


Homecoming

by Entropyrose



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual, Explicit Sex, M/M, One-Shot, going in dry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: It's been forever since I posted something, so here is a Fratt one-shot. Some angst. Just these two going at it hot and heavy, mostly. Matt welcoming Frank home after a hiatus.





	Homecoming

Coming home used to be an ordeal of sorts. Frank would be sure to work something out with his wife so that the kids would be totally surprised and would have no idea he was coming. Claire was so good at planning everything down to the minute, and she’d have every detail worked out before he stepped foot off the plane. Frank would show up at the school or the dance recital or the soccer field, drop his bags and try his damndest not to break down while his babies charged forward screaming in delight, their arms thrown wide, ruthlessly colliding with his sore ribs, burying their faces in his dust-battered jacket. He would always be surprised when he reached down to ruffle their heads and found they’d each grown a little taller(and Lisa was usually faster at it than Frankie). Claire would look on with a proud smile and tears glittering in her eyes as cameras clicked and people sighed and hugged each other tight. He knew damn well she wanted to be there, too. Running to him, pumps flying off, kissing him until they were both breathless, coiling her arms around his neck and hanging on for dear life. Her turn would come, as Frankie and Lisa made room, and Frank was sure he was going to break her. She felt so thin—a war is always fought at home as well as on the field—her eyes swollen and tired. But her grip was always forceful, her mouth hungry, and she never held back for the sake of propriety. She’d mash their mouths together—more teeth than lips—and shudder a little in his arms as onlookers gasped and some of the mothers averted their children’s eyes. But none of them mattered because he was home. The four of them would hold and hug each other tight and whisper their “I love you too”s. 

Frank is thinking all these things in the middle of a dark living room. Standing there holding a heavy case, the echoes of frantic, happy laughter reverberates through his memories. He doesn’t know where to go this time. There’s been nobody to make any plans, nobody to tell him where to go, what tree or wall to duck behind before the big reveal. Of course, this time he didn’t get off a plane, either. He wasn’t overseas fighting insurgents and inhaling the desert dirt. He’s not dressed in the uniform of a soldier. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror Claire had insisted on putting up at the bottom of the stairs, and doesn’t smell the blood until he sees it. With a wince, he reaches up to rub at the dark red streaks but they don’t budge. He goes about it mechanically after that—slipping the case down beside the recliner, walking to the kitchen, slipping off his jacket. It lands on the tile with a wet “flop”, and crimson splatters everywhere. He cracks open the fridge and finds a half-empty bottle of water. Might not be good for drinking anymore, but it’ll do for washing. He pours it down his face as he leans over the sink, watching with heavy lids as the dirt and the blood drain into the basin. 

“You look like shit,” a voice murmurs behind him. On instinct, Frank’s hand snaps to the pistol at his side, but he knows the voice and there is only one man “ninja” enough to sneak up on the Punisher. He lets out the breath he just swallowed and clamps his hands on the counter in front of him. 

“You can tell that, huh?” There is more to this man than meets Frank’s eyes, and as much as he hates to admit it, it intrigues him. 

“Oh, I know more than you realize,” the redhead chimes. “Like the fact that you’ve been back in town for three days and haven’t bothered to come see me?” 

“Hmph.” Frank stares down at his hands. He uses the last of the water to wash his knuckles and considers asking Matt how long he’s been here and how he got in, as if any of that matters. The man is just one giant question mark. He settles on a more open question, one that seems a hell of a lot more pertinent. “Why didn’t you stop me?” 

The vigilante has kept himself quiet if he truly has been following Frank. He hasn’t bothered to interrupt Frank’s killing spree or tattle to the brass, which is uncharacteristic to say the least. But he’s not Matt the Vigilante—not right now. Dressed in a pair of business pants and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he’s perched himself on the counter across from Frank like one of the stone gargoyles at city hall. Right now it’s like he’s trying to balance the barrier of his two lives, mystery dancing behind his eyes and an impish grin setting wrinkles on his face. Frank scowls. “Why don’t you come back to my place?” he offers, side-stepping the probe. “Get a decent meal, a hot shower?” By that thought, Matt sniffs a little wrinkles up his nose as the silence lingers between them. “You could use it.” 

Frank’s busy watching the last few drops of crimson water hit the drain. “Go home, Red.” He hears a small huff as Matt slides off the counter, crosses the space between them and plants a gentle but guiding hand on the small of Frank’s back. Frank fights back the urge to pull away. He doesn’t want anybody seeing him like this, but especially not Matt. The closer the Sun gets, the more cracks start showing up in the pavement and Frank already feels unworthy. 

“Come home,” he murmurs, leaning in the slightest bit until Frank can feel the warmth of his breath on his neck.

Frank swallows. “You sure that’s a good idea?” He feels Matt’s sightless eyes searching his face. 

They barely get in the door to the small apartment before Frank is flattening Matt against the wall and devouring his mouth with a possessive growl. The little squeak that slips through Matt’s lips sends a shockwave straight to Frank’s groin, and for a moment he forgets all about how filthy he is. If Matt minds, he sure as hell isn’t showing it. He tugs on Frank’s back, sharp nails skirting along the tight black tee shirt and Frank couldn’t give a shit less if Matt tore it off him. Matt’s thighs are warm as he spreads them, making ample room for his sharp thrusts.

“Missed you,” Matt manages through long, drawn-out moans. 

“Fuck…Red…” Frank finds the seat of Matt’s pants with both hands, dragging the starchy fabric down off his hips because he’s going to lose it if he’s not inside Matt, and soon. He shoves Matt further up the wall, and Matt helps, swinging his impossibly long legs around Frank’s waist as he grapples with Frank’s belt. With one sharp tug it releases and Frank’s cock springs free, the glans slicked and leaking in anticipation for what’s to come. Frank’s hands are busy, so he captures the edge of Matt’s shirt between his teeth as Matt wriggles himself down on the tip of Frank’s cock. Frank halts, drawing his head back, eyes burning into his deep brown pools. “No, baby. Not yet.” 

“It’s okay,” Matt insists, peppering encouraging little kisses against Frank’s nose, his lips, both ears, and Frank shudders. Matt’s dry hole is puckering over top of his swollen head, the two firm mounds of flesh surrounding it wiggling down around in an attempt to draw him in. “Frank, please.” Matt captures his cock as Frank buries his head into Matt’s clavicle and pants. “You won’t hurt me. I swear. It will feel good, baby. So good. Just…” 

“You do too much talkin’,” Frank rasps with a shove. Matt’s head flies back, hitting the wall with a dull thud and the pleasure and pain are spreading through them both. Matt is so tight, too tight, and Frank slicks him up with his leaking dick and two saliva-coated fingers. Matt’s climbing him like a tree, his incredible warmth surrounding Frank as he matches Frank’s rhythm and works his way down the wall and onto Frank’s cock. Frank lets out a small whimper and he pleads that Matt doesn’t hear it, but it’s answered with a throaty chuckle as Matt arches back and lets Frank inside. “Agh---Red—shit---“ Frank’s words dissolve into unintelligible expletives as he forces himself through the stubborn little hole and into Matt’s heat. 

With Matt fully seated on him, Frank’s hands are now free to do a little exploring. He sheds Matt’s clothing as he thrusts, urged on by Matt’s stifled mewls. His nipples are pin-stiff and puffy, and Frank makes a meal out of them, pinching one as he draws the other into his mouth, getting a good latch and suckling like he’s going to get something out of it. Matt’s head rolls back as Frank reaches something soft and bulbous inside of him, and he angles himself upwards into the sensation. Soon, Matt is unable to contain his cries. His hands have roamed underneath Frank’s tee-shirt and his sharp little fingernails are setting Frank’s back ablaze. 

“That it, sweet thing?” Frank plows into it mercilessly, flattening Matt to the wall as he gnaws on a nipple. “Right there? That what you want?” He marvels at Matt’s skin—its milky whiteness interrupted occasionally by powder-pink scars that dance along his torso and a light dusting of freckles, and it’s a sharp contrast to Frank’s dark tan and the red-streaked splotches of blood marring his chest. 

“Frank—oh, fuck—please…” Matt shamelessly reaches down between his legs, but Frank brushes his hand away. 

“Don’t think so,” he rasps, his breath hot in Matt’s ear. “That’s mine.” Matt bites down on his bottom lip as Frank sweeps a thumb along his frenulum, bucking his hips in time with the too-soft strokes. He angles his head in for another harsh kiss before bearing down and jack-hammering Matt’s insides. 

Matt comes almost instantly, coating Frank’s belly in hot slick as his entrance clenches down around Frank’s cock and he chokes off a cry. Sweat has soaked them both, caking the blood still dried on Frank’s skin, and Frank finishes with a subdued groan, his face buried in the crook of Matt’s neck as he spills into him. 

They collapse together, slumping against the wall and laughing breathlessly as they attempt to gracefully separate themselves. “Guess we both need a shower now,” Matt muses, making a useless effort to smooth his dress shirt that hangs off him in threads. 

“I’d like that,” Frank murmurs, curling one arm around Matt’s slender waist and pulling him in for another kiss. Matt sidles away, pulling Frank’s hand by the fingers and leading him down the darkened hallway with a soft smile. The heat of the moment now passed, Frank’s senses are slowly returnin, and the tired ache of his overworked muscles have ramped up to a pang. But none of that seems to matter, now. He isn’t sure why the redhead does what he does—kicking his ass and compromising his missions one moment and injecting life back into his soulless existence the next. For whatever reason he does it, whatever this thing is between them, Frank can’t help but be grateful for it. Relieved, even. 

The shower water is warm but Matt’s arms are warmer, drawing Frank in under the spray as the cum and the blood and the fluids are all washed away. Frank captures Matt’s hands softly, kissing either palm and pressing their glistening foreheads together. “You never answered my question.” 

Matt’s eyelashes flutter and his mouth quirks upward, but he’s not drawing away. “Oh? And what was that?” 

“Why didn’t you come find me sooner? It’s been three days.” 

“Where did you go?,” Matt counters, nudging his nose into Frank’s cheek and pressing their lips together. He doesn’t wait for a reply—probably knows he’s not going to get one—before adding, “Don’t go away again, okay?” 

Frank’s hands slip to Matt’s thighs, working gentle circles with wide, calloused thumbs as he contemplates his answer. “You know I can’t promise that.” 

“You can try.” Matt steps inward, and this time it’s Frank getting backed against the shower wall, the spray getting hotter (or maybe that’s just their bodies), the taste of his tongue lingering as he laps inside Frank’s mouth. Frank lets out a raspy growl and his hands roam lower, kneading fistfuls of that glorious ass, digging his nails in. 

“You sure you wanna start something again?” 

Matt answers with a wet palm against the underside of Frank’s growing erection, rutting his own against Frank’s thigh, and Frank dissolves against him. 

It will never be like it was. Frank will never stop re-living those moments. To forget would be like tearing apart his own soul, his only meaning for existence. But with Matt, that little sliver of light enters his life once more and for just a second he can breathe again. “Welcome home,” Matt murmurs against Frank’s mouth before melting against his chest.


End file.
